


In the Way He Should Go

by Marguerite



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-16
Updated: 2009-03-16
Packaged: 2019-05-30 17:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15101309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marguerite/pseuds/Marguerite
Summary: "Train up a child in the way he should go, and even when he is old, he will not depart from it." (Proverbs 22:6)





	In the Way He Should Go

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

Part One

*** 

"CJ! CJ! CJ!"

The briefing room was packed with reporters, all waving their arms and shouting.

"CJ! CJ! CJ!"

"Katie."

"Was it the President's idea to include teachers who belong to Al Caldwell's "Pray for Our Schools" campaign?"

Toby revered the way CJ neither paused nor consulted her notes. Her voice was strong as she peered over the rims of her reading glasses, while her expression radiated all the disapproval she couldn't allow to seep into her voice. "The summit on education was open to any and all educators who had a desire to give input. While the President certainly sought out participants who were qualified teachers and administrators, he didn't do background checks on hot-button issues before allowing them to attend. Tom?"

"Does this meeting imply that President Bartlet is planning to beef up the Department of Education?"

"Well, as education is a high priority of this administration and most of the citizens of the nation, I'd think that's a pretty fair assessment."

The journalists laughed.

Sam turned to Toby and grinned. "Some days I expect Bic lighters and everyone yelling 'Freebird!'"

Toby just stared at him.

"You know, like the end of a concert..."

"Sam."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"Okay."

They continued to watch through the window, their view of CJ's face all but obstructed by a sea of waving hands, some clutching tape recorders, others holding on to well-chewed pencils. Amber waves of media, Toby often called them.

"I'll take two more questions. Alex."

"There's a social event tonight in the Mural Room and there's a meeting tomorrow with the President and some of the White House Senior Staff - how were the attendees selected?"

"The teachers meeting with Senior Staff tomorrow were chosen by their peers from the large number of delegates to the summit. The group tonight is mostly made up of people whose expertise has contributed to White House policy over the years, along with some of the parents and faculty from Bell High School." Her lips quivered a little and Toby knew she was recalling the devastating news of the shooting at that school just days after the events at Rosslyn.

Chris, hardest-assed of the many hard-assed White House reporters, was among the writers who waved their hands and called to CJ. Toby put his fingertips to his forehead as if trying to send a psychic message. "Don't call on Chris, please, please, don't call on  
Chris."

"Chris."

"Damnit."

Chris got out of her chair, her voice clear and strong as she asked the question Toby feared. "CJ, is it a little disingenuous to hold an educational summit so soon after the  
President states his intent to run for re-election, not to mention the anniversary of the shooting at Bell High School?"

"It's actually being held the day after the anniversary and the date wasn't selected by the White House in the first place, but thanks for putting the word 'disingenuous' out there for the American people to mull over. That's all until the six o'clock briefing, ladies and gentlemen."

"Good save," Sam murmured, his voice all but lost in the cacophony of the press corps as  
its members dispersed.

"It's just the beginning." Toby's stride was no match for CJ's but he made up for it by sprinting, catching up to her as she rounded the corner. "We almost got through that without the big question."

"Yeah, I probably should've seen that coming from Chris. I'm just surprised that no one asked earlier."

"Disingenuous?" Sam snorted as he sidled up to them. "I didn't know Chris could spell 'disingenuous.'"

Toby shot a murderous glare at Sam. "If she can, good for her. If she can't, then they'll just chalk it up to the bad American educational system. Which we inherited, by the way, but no one's gonna care about the fine points. So either way, we lose."

"Toby, just relax," CJ said with a sigh. "We've got to meet with a bunch of these people  
tonight and it'll go better if you aren't so, you know, utterly dour."

"Your confidence overwhelms me, CJ." Toby stopped at the door to CJ's office while Sam brushed past them to get to the bullpen. "Has anyone taken the President's temperature on Caldwell and his gang coming along for the ride?"

"He's not completely against them, Toby. He just doesn't want them dictating policy."

"Well, good, because neither do I. And neither does the Constitution." Toby's voice rose a little but a frown from CJ kept him in check. "And there's the other problem."

"What other problem?" CJ asked.

"The anniversary. We're going to have all kinds of crazies popping out of the woodwork this weekend, and some of them will be colorful enough to attract media attention. We're going to have to keep grabbing the focus from them." He pursed his lips and glanced away, then looked back at her again. "It's about education, CJ. It's a fight worth winning."

Her smile was like a gift. "You don't have to tell me twice. I'm a product of American public schools."

"Yes, you are. We are. You and I. We're the proverbial 'it,' and we're going to be held up to some harsh light in comparison to our colleagues. Are we up to the challenge?"

CJ cocked one eyebrow at him. "Are you asking me, or telling me?"

"Both," was the rapid-fire reply, but he grinned at her. "We'll be in direct competition with Josh and Sam as we trade anecdotes of our educational prowess. I, for one, look forward to the skirmish." As usual, he didn't bother with a goodbye before turning on his heel and marching out of CJ's office.

"I know what you really want, Toby," she called after him. "You just want to beat the living snot out of Sam." Part of her thought it would be equally entertaining to pin Josh to the mat. But there was a part of her that understood the rhythm of her co-workers, so CJ knew that Josh was already feeling pinned.

***

Josh's eyes watered as flash after flash went off in front of his face. Two days ago it had been the anniversary of the shooting - unmarked except by occasional misty smiles from  
Donna and Sam, a solemn pat on the back from the President, and a too-innocent foray for beer after the last meeting of the night. Even after a year, even in the security of the  
Mural Room, he still flinched at bright lights, sudden noises, and crowds.

He was living through all three this evening. People stood in bunches, talking, laughing, arguing, taking photographs, while he stood in the corner with a glass of wine that he held with both hands to control the tremors in his fingers.

At least music had come back into his life, he reflected as the pianist in the lobby struck up a few chords from a tune he didn't quite remember. There had been a time when even something as innocuous as Donna's humming would leave him breathless and paralyzed.  
She had stopped singing when he explained to her about the effect music had on him, and now he found that he actually missed her voice.

Tonight she was standing with a couple of aides and Sam, trying to look as if she weren't keeping an eye on him. It would have worked except that Sam had the identical look of practiced nonchalance on his face. Josh beckoned them over with his glass.

"Would you two stop that?" he asked, his voice sibilant against the laughter and discussion around them. "I'm fine, there's nothing wrong, you can just relax and enjoy yourselves until all Hell breaks loose, which should be tomorrow when the Christian Right comes out to play."

Sam looked down, his ears turning pink with embarrassment, but Donna's expression never wavered. "I'm sorry if we're being obvious, Josh. But Leo told us--"

Josh groaned. "Go. Get some wine, mingle with the crowd. Keep Toby from looking like he'd just as soon dismember these people as talk to them."

"We're going, we're going," Sam grumbled, but he patted Josh on the arm before he walked away. Josh watched, satisfied, as Sam picked up a glass of wine for Donna and led her to a cluster of people who seemed too awestruck by their surroundings to be having a good time. They were the perfect hosts for such a diverse crowd - Sam's gawky charm and Donna's vivaciousness, in combination, could bring a cranky turtle out of its shell. Or make Toby smile just a little.

For himself, he'd just be glad when people put the damn cameras away.

There wasn't going to be a chance of that happening, because CJ entered the room and announced the President. Everyone rose at once. There was applause, and more flashes went off, leaving Josh almost blinded when the shadow of the President fell over him.

"Josh! Leo's tied up in a meeting on the Hill and I need your help. Come with me and greet some of our guests, would you?" Josh submitted to Bartlet's grasp on his arm and walked with him to a circle of people that CJ had pulled aside. "Hello, thank you so much for being here, we're so glad you could join us!"

Bartlet's ability to make anyone feel like the center of the universe at a moment's notice was a quality Josh admired but did not share. He followed along, shaking hands and smiling, not really looking at the people who were greeting him. The sound of the name "Bell" caught his attention and he found himself in the center of a group of people wearing purple and gold ribbons on their lapels. The distinct tang of gunpowder assaulted his senses.

CJ introduced them. "Mr. President, these are members of the delegation from Bell High School in Danbury, Connecticut."

Jed Bartlet was at his best when he was genuinely moved by the people around him. His handshakes were firm, his offers of condolences gentle and comforting. "You lost a son, sir? I am so very sorry." Josh noticed a woman standing slightly apart from the group and he could swear she was looking right at him. Bartlet sought her out, probably because she was standing alone, and took her hand. "Thank you for coming today - you're one of the teachers?"

"Yes, sir." The woman, Josh realized, was still looking at him over the President's shoulder. "I'm a faculty member at Bell. My name is Audrey Shecter."

The gunpowder smell dissipated and was replaced with something thicker and more frightening, something from the past that Josh couldn't quite discern.

"Mrs. Shecter, this is CJ Cregg, White House Press Secretary, and my Deputy Chief of Staff, Joshua Lyman."

A strong jolt of memory hit Josh as he looked into the woman's sad, dark eyes, and he was certain that she was someone he knew. "I'm sorry, but I think...have we met?" Josh asked, trying to subtract years and sorrow from the plain face.

"Josh, I'm Audrey Kaplan."

Bittersweet, the memories, and tinged with the fading colors of old photographs seen through a smoky haze.

Two girls, their voices surprisingly clear and on-key, singing along with Broadway show tunes as they "danced" with him. Chocolate chip cookie dough on his fingers. A day when he lay in bed, aching and feverish with measles, petting a smuggled gray tabby cat with fur like silk and a tongue like sandpaper.

Without another word Josh scooped the woman up in a tight hug. "My God, Audrey, how many years has it been?"

"Twenty, give or take a few." She disentangled herself from his loose-limbed embrace as CJ and Bartlet watched with raised eyebrows. "I grew up two doors down from the Lymans," Audrey said to them, blushing to the roots of her dark hair.

"She was Joanie's best friend," Josh added. He saw confusion on Bartlet's face and he swallowed twice before speaking again. "Joanie was my older sister."

Bartlet opened his mouth as if to say something, but CJ shook her head and he remained silent.

Josh held Audrey by the shoulders, evaluating the dark shadows under her eyes and noting that almost the only color to her pale skin was a dusting of freckles on her nose. "I remember my parents telling me they'd gone to your wedding. Is he here? What's his name?"

Audrey's smile melted at the corners. "I married Michael Shecter."

The name sent electricity through Josh's brain and he realized Audrey's connection to the tragedy at Bell: Michael Shecter, martyred hero of the shooting, a teacher who had thrown himself into the line of fire to save several teenagers while his wife watched from the threshold of a classroom three doors down.

"Oh, Audrey," Josh whispered. "I didn't realize that was you. I'm so, so sorry. I wish I'd known - I'd have done something--"

"Josh, you were busy running the country. Actually, you weren't, right then, because you were...involved in a shooting of your very own." She flashed a tight, tearful smile at him. "I called your mom and got your phone number. I wanted to contact you when you got out of the hospital, but there was so much security around you, and I was still being followed by reporters, and..."

Bartlet interrupted. "It sounds as if you two have some catching up to do. Believe it or not, Mrs. Shecter, it's perfectly possible to have a social function without Josh's charming presence."

"We can go to my office," Josh began, but Bartlet shook his head and placed one hand on his shoulder, and the other on Audrey's.

"Even I don't have the stomach for your office, Josh. Use Leo's. I'll have someone send some food down to you."

Again Josh was amazed at Bartlet's ability to put people at their ease. Audrey visibly relaxed at the notion of privacy and Josh put his hand lightly at the small of her back.

"Last time you looked down at me, Josh, you had to stand on the stairs."

"Yeah, yeah."

CJ smiled warmly at Audrey. "If you have any particularly humiliating moments from Josh's early years that you'd like to share, I can make you the star of tomorrow morning's press conference."

"She's got nothin'," Josh protested.

Audrey beckoned CJ closer and whispered to her, "Ask me about the two-layer cake that became a four-layer cake, the Monopoly game, and the cat. Oh, and a box of photos somehow made it into my suitcase."

Josh felt a shiver of anticipated humiliation, more so when CJ handed Audrey a business card, the one with the direct line to her office, and said: "I'm free for lunch tomorrow."

"Let's go," Josh commanded as he ushered Audrey out of the Mural room, noting with apprehension that CJ looked positively gleeful.

***

CJ and the President watched Josh and Audrey slip out of the Mural room. "He 'had' a sister? What's the story on that?" Bartlet asked.

"An older sister. Her name was Joanie." CJ paused, her smile melting, remembering the drunken, tearful recitation of the story during a late-night campaign bus ride. "One night, when their parents were out and Joanie was babysitting Josh, the house caught on fire. Josh escaped, but Joanie died of smoke inhalation. She was twelve and Josh was five."

Bartlet looked stricken. "I didn't know. I mean, I had no idea. I thought I knew you all...Leo never...I didn't know." He sighed, shaking his head. "Sometimes I wonder if there's any limit to the tragedy in that young man's life." They stood together in silence for a moment. "CJ, I understand that there are some questions about teachers involved with Caldwell's group being here."

"It's to be expected."

"Still." Bartlet sighed even though he was smiling at two people who were waving at him from a nearby clutch of partygoers. "I'm remaining hopeful that we can get some good work accomplished. What's your take?"

"Honestly, sir?" CJ stepped back so that he could look her in the eye without craning his neck.

"I've never known you to be any other way, CJ. A forecast, if you please."

She sipped her wine. "Clear to party cloudy, with a moderate scattering of arguments and a chance for tornadic activity."

"Ah, then," Toby said as he joined them. "You've seen this early version of Phil Garnett's article about the Senior Staff." He handed the blue file folder to Bartlet. "It was faxed to me as a 'courtesy.' Although, to be candid, I'm having a little trouble thinking of anything courteous to say about this."

CJ peered over the President's shoulder. "What is it?"

Bartlet put on his glasses to scan the document, then grunted and slammed the folder shut. "It's a comparison of our educational backgrounds. We're held up as paragons of private school educations. All but Toby."

"I went to public schools," CJ argued.

"Yes, but you ended up at Berkley, so they figure you were just a wunderkind who bloomed where you were planted in spite of the sad state of our educational system." The  
President's voice was laced with anger. "It's what Garnett says about you, Toby, that makes me want to go after them with an axe."

"It's not doing much for my evening, either," Toby said.

"What are you talking about?" CJ's glass almost went flying when she gestured with it.  
"Toby, what the hell did he say about you?"

"He brought up my proletarian education in the Brooklyn Public Schools and theorized that it was doubtless the cause of my 'only' being able to get into City College of New York. Evidently, I'm the token poor kid. And now, given my 'inferior' education, they're questioning my work."

"He's questioning your work?" CJ hissed, furious on Toby's behalf. "He's questioning your right to advise the President based on where you went to school?"

"It gets worse, actually," Bartlet said. He put his hand on Toby's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "He also brings into question--"

"Every word I ever wrote." Toby looked down, his eyes veiled. "Every word."

***

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you'd please take your seats. Everyone, please, take your seats."

The Roosevelt Room was crowded. Every seat at the table was filled, the chairs packed so tightly together that there was hardly room for anyone to write. A second set of chairs encircled the ones at the table, and aides and onlookers stood along the wall. The air conditioning was on full blast but there was an uncomfortable stickiness in the atmosphere that had men desperate to loosen their ties and women wishing they hadn't worn nylons.

One chair was empty, at the head of the table, and it would be filled only when the  
President made his appearance. Toby sat to the right of the President's chair, and across from him was a middle-aged man with receding red hair. His bright green eyes twinkled behind gold wire-rimmed glasses. Reaching across the table, Toby introduced himself. "Toby Ziegler."

"Don Mahoney. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise." Toby smoothed the blank piece of paper at the top of his note pad. "The teachers chose you to be their chief representative, is that correct?"

"Yes, and I'm looking forward to this. It's possible that for the first time in years, there'll be someone in the White House who's actually interested in improving education instead of supporting legislation that's destined to keep a major portion of the electorate as ignorant as possible."

Toby's eyes crinkled and a little of the tightness around his heart was released. "Mr. Mahoney, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." He looked around the table, finding Sam in deep conversation with a man in a dark suit. Josh was helping someone - the woman CJ had said was an old family friend - find a seat.

Suddenly there was a wave of activity and all the people rose as one. "Please, everyone, keep your seats, it's too crowded in here to be leaping up and down every time I enter the room." Toby watched in amusement as President Bartlet took a turn around the room, shaking hands. "Mr. Wilson, thanks so much for helping us out today. Ah, Joe, save a doughnut for someone else, wouldya?" His gaze fell on Josh, who was standing behind Audrey's chair, and he jerked his thumb in the direction of the door. "Don't you have some people from Budget waiting in your office?"

"Yes, sir. I'm on my way...you know, now."

Bartlet nudged Josh aside and shook hands with Audrey. His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Mrs. Shecter - I'm sorry, it feels so odd to call someone who used to change Josh's diapers 'Mrs.' - may I call you Audrey?"

Toby held back a smirk as Josh's face registered his abject humiliation.

"Audrey, it's nice to see you again. I hear the two of you had Leo's office cornered for a good two hours last night."

"It was...good to get caught up, sir." Audrey's cheeks turned soft pink and she gave the President a hesitant smile.

"That's great. I'm gonna go get this ball rolling. Josh, leave us alone so we can talk about you behind your back, okay?"

"I'll just do that, then." Josh patted Audrey on the shoulder and flashed a grimace at Toby before heading out into the hallway.

Taking his seat at the head of the table, Bartlet addressed the delegation. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you again for agreeing to meet here this morning. I know you're anxious to get to the actual summit, but before you do, we'd like to ask you for your input on a number of issues. You represent the people who are really doing the job out there, the teachers of America, the ones in the figurative - and sometimes literal - crossfire."

Audrey flinched. Toby realized that she was not wearing the purple and gold ribbons, only her visitor's badge and a thin gold necklace with an oval locket.

"I am nothing if not passionate about education," Bartlet continued, and Don nodded in agreement. "I can commission studies until I'm blue in the face, consult 'specialists' until blood runs out my ears, but it's all for naught unless I have the common sense to consult the very people who understand teaching because they don't study it, they don't consult about it, they do it." He leaned back in his chair and addressed Don. "What is your opinion about the state of American education?"

"Mr. President, American education is a wreck."

"So I've been told, so I've been told. What kind of wreck are we talking about?"

"The kind where you can't tell where one piece of wreckage ends and the next one starts. We have students who can't read or write, schools that would be condemned if the cities could afford to paint a sign on the door, teachers working 70-hour weeks for 20-hour pay, and parents wanting to know what can be done to make it better as long as it doesn't involve paying money or having to supervise their own children."

"And you have an answer or two?" Bartlet asked, glancing first at Toby and then returning his full attention to Don.

"Oh, Mr. President, we have many, many answers. We just aren't sure how much you're going to like them."

"If they're going to work, then it really doesn't matter what I think, does it?"

It was more than a courtesy laugh, and a few people even applauded. The President rose, everyone in the room twisting to their feet as well. "I have something to do that my aides are assuring me is more important than this. I think they're out of their minds. But Toby will be taking notes and asking questions, and if at any time there's an issue you'd like me to address, he'll let me know and I'll get back with you this afternoon."

"About this afternoon," Toby put in, rubbing his eyebrow with the knuckle of his index finger. "We need to tell them--"

"Ah. Yes." Bartlet leaned forward, his palms flat on the table. "I'm sure you have heard by now that the Reverend Al Caldwell has reserved some time with your group this afternoon. I know he will be treated with the courtesy he deserves. Toby. He'll be treated with the courtesy he deserves."

"Absolutely. Sir." Toby tried to hide his expression from the President, but Bartlet stared him down until Toby lifted his head and nodded in agreement. Some of the teachers shook their heads, others nodded.

It was going to be a long, long day.

***

"How's it going in there?" Charlie inquired from the doorway to CJ's office, indicating the general direction of the Roosevelt Room.

"Well, so far I haven't heard any screaming or breaking glass, so I assume all is still well." CJ took off her glasses and closed her laptop. "Carol phoned and said you were on your way - what's up?"

He looked down at the manila envelope in his hands. "I came to ask a favor."

"Well, in that case, come in and sit for a minute." She noticed that he closed the door behind himself before taking a seat in the chair opposite her desk. "What can I do for you, Charlie?"

"It's not for me. It's for Deena." He held out the envelope. "She's looking for a part-time job and we need some references."

"Charlie, you work for the President. Surely my name would be, I don't know, superfluous or something."

"I can't ask him."

Something in Charlie's tone sent a shiver down CJ's spine. "May I ask why?"

His eyes were sad rather than defiant. "I'd rather you didn't. Anyway, I gave one to Donna - she and my sister struck up a friendship after...Rosslyn. When Deena came in to the office to file stuff while Donna sat with Josh."

"Yeah, I remember. She was a tremendous help to me, too. Look, Charlie, I'd be happy to do this for her, really."

"If it's not too much trouble." He didn't say "ma'am" but CJ heard the deference in his voice.

"Charlie, it's no trouble at all. I'll just send this along after the noon briefing." She watched Charlie get up, his posture less proud than usual and something sad in his eyes.  
"Look, it's none of my business, but..."

"Thanks, CJ." He cut her off, not brusquely but nervously, his hand up in the air as if to ward off her question. "I'll tell Deena. She'll be thrilled. We really appreciate this."

"My pleasure." And it would have been, except that she had the sick feeling that there was something unsavory happening right under her nose. Again.

***

"Point of order, Mr. Mahoney."

Toby grimaced as the narrow-beaked woman waved her manicured hand in the air. She epitomized everything he'd ever hated about bad Social Studies teachers throughout his life - the prissiness, the exacting attention to unimportant minutiae, the general snotty air that made him want to hit her over the head with his notepad, if only he weren't in the Roosevelt Room and therefore expected to behave himself.

Don didn't look much happier. "Mrs. Perkins, could you wait a moment until Mrs. Shecter has finished her comments?"

"Mrs. Shecter is the focus of my question. The actual committee members are the ones seated at the table, are they not?"

"Yes," Toby half-groaned, saving Don the trouble of answering.

"The people seated behind the table are honorary guests - should they be speaking at this meeting?"

Toby wanted, with every fiber of his being, to slam the woman into the fireplace in the  
Mural Room and let Sam and Josh attempt another Boy Scout Night. "Do you have a complaint about the answers Mrs. Shecter has given to the question?"

"Not as such, but--"

"Well, fine, then." Toby rapped the table with his pen. "Mrs. Shecter, you were saying...?"

Audrey sank a little lower in her chair. "It's all right, Mr. Ziegler. I didn't realize that I wasn't supposed to speak."

"No one cares about that," Don assured her, giving her a mild smile. "Except one or two of our learned colleagues. Please, continue."

Taking a deep breath, Audrey started to talk. "My point is that we see the students for anywhere from forty-five minutes a day to an hour and a half every other day. The scope of our influence is therefore limited - but it's still more than many parents are giving their children. We have students at Bell whose parents come home from work after seven, who eat dinner in front of the television in silence, who go for days without anything more than cursory hellos and goodbyes being exchanged. Our time with the students is often more meaningful than what they get at home, short and irregular as it may be, and we need the freedom to work with the children instead of having a thousand regulations impeding every word we want to use."

Toby watched as Audrey's plain face lit up with enthusiasm. "We've been given an awesome responsibility and at the same time have had most of our tools taken away from us. We can't pat children on the back when they do well or hug them when they cry. We can't even touch them when they bleed - we're supposed to toss them a bandaid and say for them to take care of it themselves. We'd penalize parents who did that. But here we are, expected to be in loco parentis, and we're unable to show anything more than benign neglect – the same benign neglect that's created a generation of disenfranchised, aimless young people."

There was a general murmur of approval from the assembled teachers, but Mrs. Perkins raised her hand again. "Mrs. Shecter, don't you think that it's the lack of prayer time in the schools that's creating this disenfranchised generation of which you speak?"

"No one says students can't pray in schools. They just can't do it in gangs." Audrey's voice rose and her dark eyes sparkled like fireworks.

"Gangs? Like the ones who went through your school and shot--"

"That's enough." Don's words cut through the air like a sword. "We're going to leave that debate until this afternoon."

"I'm just saying that Mrs. Shecter, of all people, should realize the power and potential of prayer in the schools."

Audrey shifted in her seat, her hands clasped so tightly that her fingernails turned a bluish-white. "First, I didn't come here as part of some Tragedy Agenda. I'm here as a teacher, the same as you. Second, since you bring it up, the three young men and one young woman who opened fire on dozens of innocent people at Bell High School were active in their church youth groups. If three hours a week with their ministers didn't help, what makes you think three minutes a day would make any difference?" She paused, blinking rapidly. "Besides. There's this thing we both teach about, Mrs. Perkins - it's called the Constitution. Perhaps you've heard of the First Amendment. It's a good one."

Toby smiled into his beard, covering his chuckle with a cough. "It seems to be getting a little warm in here. Perhaps we should break for lunch - I understand that there are three long tables set up in the Mess for you. We'll meet back here at one." He stood up, shuffling papers.

"Thanks," Don said, removing his glasses and wiping them on his jacket sleeve. "I sat next to this Perkins woman on the plane and I thought about throwing her overboard."

"Can't say as I blame you. Between her and Caldwell's bunch, we should have a merry time of it this afternoon. Meanwhile, why don't we eschew the company of the buzzard and head out for lunch? There's actually a halfway decent deli a few blocks from here." As Don nodded his agreement, Toby turned to Audrey. "Mrs. Shecter, would you care to join us? I understand you are the bearer of some very embarrassing Josh Lyman stories."

She smiled at him. "I'm supposed to meet with CJ Cregg. For the same reason. I'm quite the celebrity today."

"I'm sorry about Katie Perkins," Don said. "We'll try and keep a lid on her this afternoon."

"Thanks. It's almost worth it, though, for the sheer entertainment value." She gathered her belongings and followed Carol in the direction of CJ's office.

"We should bring Sam Seaborn along, so we can start going through the notes during lunch," Toby said as he checked the amount of paper in his legal pads. The two men departed in search of Sam, sandwiches, and cold beer.

***

Three women leaned over CJ's desk, staring raptly at a pile of photographs turning blue and yellow with age.

"Oh, my God, is that Josh?" Donna asked, pointing at a chubby, dimpled newborn baby.

"Yep. That's Noah, holding him." Audrey smiled as she pointed out a photo of the new mother and her son. "Josh looks a lot like his mom."

"I can see that." CJ took a long sip of her drink and picked up another picture. "Is that you?"

"Which one? Oh, that. Yes, that's me on the right, and on the left is Joanie. We were seven and going trick-or-treating."

"Ahh, cute!" Donna exclaimed. Joanie's curling red hair was pulled up in a ponytail and she had on a sweater and a blue poodle skirt. Audrey had a matching outfit, only red, and her dark hair was tied up with a red ribbon.

"My mom made our costumes every year. She loved to sew. She did these, too," Audrey said, indicating the identical dresses the girls wore in a more formal photograph. "We did that a lot - dressed alike. We wanted so much to be sisters."

"That's sweet." CJ's throat tightened when she saw a picture of Audrey, Joanie, and Josh at a beach, the three of them cuddled up tightly. "Josh had that killer smile even then."

"Oh, he was a little charmer. He loved to curl up on my lap and read to me."

"The Wall Street Journal?" Donna inquired, making a delighted face as she found a picture of Josh in a tiny suit with short pants, his hair waving in every direction.

"You'd be amazed. He was incredibly smart. Joanie was, too, but she was more artistic. By the time Josh was three, he was reading and writing. We adored him. Most girls would rather be boiled in oil than do things with their baby brothers, but Joanie - she loved him so much."

Donna sniffled. CJ handed her a tissue as she spoke. "He doesn't talk about her. I only found out by, well, a drunken accident. He told Donna when she was helping him go through papers after his father died, and she found Joanie's death certificate."

"It was awful to lose her," Audrey whispered. "Josh was so little. He didn't understand that death was really final - he always saw actors die on television but come back the next week in another show. He asked me if Joanie was going to turn up in another family and if he could go be with her if she did."

Donna's eyes flooded with tears. CJ tried to be irritated with her, but her own eyes were misty as well. "He's a good man. He drives us crazy half the time, but we'd be lost without him."

"His parents did an amazing job after Joanie died. They didn't spoil him. They didn't rush out and have another child. They just moved on with their lives, not forgetting Joanie but not making more of the dead than of the living. Especially Noah - he made sure that Josh knew they loved him not just because he was all they had left but because he was such a good son. Josh got his passion for justice from his father, and Marjorie gave him the strength and will to fight for it."

From somewhere in the back of CJ's mind came an old proverb. "Train up a child in the way he should go, and even when he is old, he will not depart from it."

"Exactly." Audrey smiled at them through her own nostalgic tears.

"Speak of the Devil," Donna said, her voice thick with emotion.

Josh stood in the doorway, one eyebrow lifted. "Here are my three favorite women, and from the looks on your faces I bet you've seen the pictures of me in the bathtub."

"There's a picture of--" CJ grabbed the stack and shuffled through it. Josh peered over her shoulder - he had to stand on tiptoe - and chuckled.

"Audrey, can I talk to you for a minute?"

She looked at CJ, who grinned and waved her off with a photo of baby Josh in his playpen, scowling toothlessly at the camera.

***

"Josh, if you're embarrassed by the pictures--"

"Nah, that's fine. Donna and CJ deserve some amusement after all they put up with from me." He closed the office door behind him and offered her the only clean chair in the room.

"Wow - President Bartlet wasn't kidding. This place is a disaster area."

"I like it this way. People don't tend to come in here and distract me from the finer points of running the White House."

"Such as catching up on the box scores?" Audrey asked, waving the sports section of the paper at him.

"Yeah, yeah. Donna's rubbing off on you." He grinned at her as he perched on the edge of his desk, then his expression turned serious. "I'm glad you brought those photos. We don't have many, because, well, we lost almost everything in the fire."

He had lost almost everything. Not the physical things, the toys and books and games that his grandparents began replacing even before they'd built the new house, but the love of his sister and the security of thinking that his family was inviolate. He had lost his mother's easy smile and his father's laughter.

And when they had moved to another town, when the Kaplan family's visits slowed and then stopped, he had lost the next best thing to his sister.

"Josh, did you want to talk about the fire?" Audrey asked softly.

He bit his lip and nodded. "I'm not sure how much I remember and how much I was told later on. I remember being scared and standing outside in my pajamas. I think I had my stuffed dog with me."

Audrey lowered her head. "I don't know what to tell you, Josh."

"I don't know what to ask. Except what you were told, how your parents broke it to you. I just don't remember anything about that night, really, and I hoped--"

The knock on the door made them both jump.

"Yeah," Josh said as the door opened and Toby and Sam walked in. "Oh, good, we were hoping you two would be in here." Toby led Sam into the office. "Mrs. Shecter, I wanted to introduce you to someone. This is Sam Seaborn, Deputy Communications Director."

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Seaborn."

"Sam. Please." Sam's warm smile lit up the dingy room as he extended his hand.

"Audrey." She rose and shook hands with him, then smiled and nodded at Toby.

"You weren't looking for me, then," Josh said, his head tilted back.

"Not especially," Toby replied.

"See how much respect I get around here?"

"As much as you deserve, Josh, as much as you deserve. Anyway, what Sam and I were wondering is if you'd have time to talk to us following this afternoon's session. I'm very impressed with what you have to say and I'd like to flesh out some of your comments."

Sam turned to Toby as if somewhat surprised, but Audrey didn't seem to notice. "I'd be happy to."

"But now she needs to go eat lunch. CJ's probably put my baby pictures in this afternoon's press kit." Josh pressed Audrey's hand in his, then nodded toward the door.

"Toby," Sam said softly as if making sure Audrey was out of earshot, "I thought you just wanted me to meet her. I'm not so sure about this."

"About what? About asking a highly qualified teacher for her opinion on education?"

Josh knew better than to get involved in a communications debate. He sat down behind his desk and listened watching as the other two men became increasingly animated.

"About picking someone whose main reason for being invited is that she taught at a school where an act of violence was perpetrated."

"Hey!" Josh hadn't meant to speak, but his interjection was automatic. "She happens to be very well-respected in her teaching field."

"That may be the case. But Toby, I thought we chose teachers from some of the best schools in the country to interview for possible text for the President's address. I mean, we just spent an hour with Don Mahoney, and we have a whole list of people who have already been scheduled--"

"Are you implying that only people from 'better' schools can give good soundbites?" Toby's voice was dangerously neutral.

"Toby, that's not--"

"Are you implying that only people from 'better' schools can give good soundbites?" Toby asked again, deceptively soft, and then he added, "Or that only people from 'better' schools can, I don't know, read or write?"

Sam's face was flushed. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Oh, I do, do I?"

"Toby..."

"As I'm sure Phil Garnett has reminded you with his deathless prose on the subject, I'm a product of an urban public school and a state-supported college. And I seem to have done okay for myself."

"No one says you haven't," Sam said, and Josh could see the indignant smolder in Sam's eyes at the recollection of the article.

"The Washington Times says I haven't."

"The Washington Times can stick it up--"

"Sam, the Ivy League passed me by but it took you. And if you have some issues with that, if you think it colors my choice of people to interview, then I...then I..."

Toby shook his head, turned around, and marched quickly away. They could hear his office door slam.

Sam turned to Josh, his face a ghastly white. "Josh."

Josh shook his head. "Fix it, Sam. Fix it. Now."

 

***

"Hey."

Toby didn't look up from his desk. He'd know Sam's voice a million miles away, a million years later.

"They're all gonna be coming back in a few minutes. What do you need?" He meant to sound prickly, standoffish, but he could hear the disappointment in his own voice.

Sam had to have heard it as well, because he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he tried to speak again. "Toby. About the thing in Josh's office, a few minutes go?"

"I'm busy, here, Sam."

"Okay. I know that. But what I meant to say back there was just--"

"Sam, just stop."

"Excuse me, may I finish a sentence?"

"Certainly." Toby slammed his pencil down on the legal pad. He glared up at Sam, whose eyes were large and hurt behind his glasses. Toby hated that sad-little-boy expression enough to keep sending verbal daggers Sam's way. "Since your words, having been purchased from Pre-Kindergarten on, have so much more value than mine, or Audrey Schecter's."

"Okay, this is where you need to shut up and, you know, listen to me, because--"

"I need to shut up because what you have to say is more important than what I have to say?" He couldn't even see anymore, the anger turning his field of vision to a hazy, blood red.

"That's not..." Sam stopped talking as abruptly as he had begun. "Forget it."

He turned on his heel and strode out the door, nearly knocking Bonnie to the ground on the way to his office. Bonnie watched, hands on hips, as Sam stalked off, then she turned toward Toby with her eyebrows raised. "What the hell was that about?"

"Bonnie. Please." Toby felt his throat constrict. He knew he had to get back to the meeting in the Roosevelt Room, but it was the last place on earth he wanted to be.

***

"CJ? Charlie's here to see you."

"Yeah, thank you, Carol. I'm glad you could get here so quickly, Charlie. I'm almost...done." She finished her task with a flourish and closed her laptop. "Have a seat."

"Thing is, CJ, I'm kinda--"

"This will just take a minute, because I'm sure that the guess I'm going to make is completely wrong, you will tell me it's completely wrong, and we'll be done." She watched him for a reaction, noting that his brow was furrowed and the corners of his mouth were twitching.

"What guess would that be?"

"This one." CJ stood up and moved to sit next to Charlie on the sofa. "I'm guessing that  
Deena needs a job because you two are concerned about your upcoming legal expenses. But of course I'm fishing, and obviously I don't understand that Deena's just looking for pocket money..."

Charlie's expression fell for one fleeting moment, then hardened into a sudden, unexpected mask of anger. "Excuse me, CJ, but how exactly did you think I was gonna pay for a lawyer? Think the government will give me an advance on my allowance?"

"Charlie, I didn't--"

"You don't get it. You just...don't get it. I'm not blaming you because you don't have any idea what our lives are like, but dammit, we're in a lot of trouble! Deena's howling at me to take immunity and quit working here so I can get what she calls a 'real job.'"

"So's my mother," CJ interjected.

"And that's my point. You, Josh, Sam, Toby, Donna - you've all got families you can fall back on if it gets too bad. I don't have that luxury. I am the 'family' that Deena will fall back on, and I'm not doing a very good job of it so she needs to help out now, too. And if we can't make it work, well, then it's just another couple of black kids who couldn't pull themselves up by their bootstraps and get an education."

CJ had never seen Charlie like this. Of course he had to have this side to him - they all did - but the bitterness and anger made him seem like another person altogether.

"About that education. You're starting to take classes at Georgetown this spring, right?"

Charlie turned away from her, leaning over his clasped hands.

"Charlie?"

Silence.

CJ put her hand on his arm. "We wrote letters of recommendation for you, Charlie. All of us. The First Lady wrote hers in longhand. We all want this for you. And Deena."

"You think I don't want this? You think this is what my mother wanted when she strapped on her weapon and went to work?" Charlie pulled away from CJ's touch. "I'm supposed to be taking care of my sister, and instead she's having to take care of both of us."

"Because of the President."

"I didn't say that, CJ."

"You didn't have to." She started to put her arm around him but he stiffened and turned away. "We all have those feelings now and then, Charlie. Especially Sam. But we signed on to this because we believe in what the President stands for, because we share his values and--"

She was cut short by Charlie's derisive laugh.

"Charlie?"

"His values. 'Get an education, Charlie, and you can do anything you want.' Well, that's not gonna happen now."

"He wants this for you. He feels...responsible for you. And he does love you, Charlie, so much."

"I know." Charlie sagged forward, head in his hands. "I think what I hate most about this is having to tell him. Letting him down."

"He doesn't know?"

Charlie shook his head. "He's so tied up with the inquiry...I can't tell him. I'm not going to say anything."

"He's a smart guy, Charlie. He's gonna notice when you don't have any books - and he's probably going to want to keep tabs on your grades." She saw that he was at last ready for her comfort, and she squeezed his hand. "You have to tell him."

"I can't. I just...can't."

"Okay, then."

Charlie eyed her, his expression guarded and wary. "CJ...?"

"It's okay. Really." She patted him on the back and stood up, walking toward the door. "I've got a briefing in fifteen, so I'm gonna get ready. Thanks for coming in, Charlie. And I'm sorry - about everything."

"Yeah. Thanks."

She left, sneaking a look back over her shoulder to Charlie. He sat on the sofa with his hands clasped in front of him. His face was closed off. Unreadable.

***

"I'm not debating your right to be here, Reverend Caldwell," Don Mahoney said, pushing his glasses back up on his nose with a sigh. "I'm just not sure what gives a religious organization a seat at this table, that's all."

"Is your problem with religion?" Caldwell asked, more curiously than unkindly.

"Not at all, sir, at least not religion per se. But we were asked here because we are professionals - current, active teachers - and if we start taking input from anyone outside the profession then our message is sure to be diluted."

"I understand your concern, Mr. Mahoney, and I promise that my comments will have nothing to do with curriculum or methods." He paused, looking at Toby, who was listening to the proceedings with increasing listlessness. "Toby, you'll notice that I didn't bring Mary Marsh with me this afternoon," he said sotto voce.

Before Toby had a chance to comment, Mrs. Perkins spoke up. "Mr. Mahoney, I'd appreciate any and all input the Reverend might have concerning ways to prevent the continual banning of prayer in the schools."

Toby gave Caldwell a baleful look. "You hardly needed her, sir," he deadpanned.

"Before we continue," said a man seated at the other end of the table from Toby, "I'd like to say, for the record, that I don't want prayer in the public schools. And before someone condemns me as being anti-religious, let me say that my wife is a Methodist minister. But I've seen some pretty ugly things happen in the schools under the umbrella of religion, and if we're going to adhere to the spirit of the law, the spirit that says we shall not establish one faith over another, then we simply have to let people pray in their own hearts and not over the school's PA system."

"What's wrong with letting a group of dedicated young people get together and worship during school?" Caldwell inquired. "If no one's forced to participate..."

"Fine with me," Don said, leaning back in his chair. "As long as there's no objection to a Wiccan ceremony being held in the cafeteria, or the rites of Samhain going on in the gym right before basketball practice."

"Wait...we're talking about organized religions, here," said Mrs. Perkins.

"They've been around longer than we have. Look," Don said, "I don't mind if kids bow their heads silently for a moment before eating lunch or before taking a test. I don't mind if they wear crosses or shirts with Christian mottoes on them. I do draw the line at having to put up a sign in my classroom with a cross on it, inviting students to 'minister to other Christians on campus.' I'm incredibly uncomfortable about that."

"But if they're ministering to like-minded students," asked Caldwell, looking genuinely perplexed, "then what's the problem?"

"The problem is that we all know that the ministry won't stop with like-minded students,  
Reverend Caldwell." Don's voice was beginning to rise. "And we all know what it can mean to a teenager, someone who's confused just by being alive, by being a hormone on legs, to have a group offer to take him or her in. Even more so when it's a teacher who sponsors the activity. That's not what we do in the public schools, Reverend."

Audrey looked at Toby and Don for permission to speak. "Children of all creeds are required by law - by our government - to attend school. They should not be forced into attendance at religious events, even as observers, in a building that represents government."

"But if they don't have to participate--" Caldwell began, but Audrey cut him off.

"Due respect, Reverend, but when people say 'but they don't have to participate,' I just want to scream. Don't you remember how cruel and random school kids are toward anyone who's different? Don't you realize that the kid who says, 'Sorry, I'm an atheist and I don't want to pray with you' is gonna be made utterly miserable? Why do we need to foster that, in a society where kids are feeling more pressured than ever?"

Don nodded. "What don't people understand? Our schools are part of the government, and government can't establish religion. Period. Students have homes, right? And churches? And friends' houses? None of those locations is under the purview of local governments, but that's not enough. The parents claim their kids are being denied their chance to 'deliver their message' to everyone around them. Fine, whatever. These are the same parents who get upset over school dress codes, or because their kids are getting teased for dying their hair purple, yet they're content to allow the schools to create an environment where children are mistreated because of their beliefs."

Josh entered, giving Toby a puzzled glance as the combatants stopped for breath. "I'm sorry to interrupt - could I borrow Audrey Shecter for a few minutes?"

Toby waved a hand in Audrey's direction. "I'm sure she'd appreciate the fresh air. Is that okay with you, Mrs. Shecter?"

"Fine. I shouldn't be talking right now, anyway." Audrey's voice was strained. She gathered her belongings and followed Josh through the sea of legs and briefcases.

"Prayer can give students the answer to their questions," Mrs. Perkins said as soon as the door closed.

"So can their parents," was Don's reply, spoken in a dark baritone.

"But the schools can--"

"The schools can't. If your child doesn't brush his teeth and he gets cavities, is it the dentist's fault? If your child has cavities in his emotional development, don't blame the schools, lady. We can love them and nurture them, but we can't make them brush their teeth. Or their minds."

Toby didn't really hear anything after that, because he had begun to write.

***

"What's going on, Josh?" Audrey asked as Donna put some files on Josh's desk and left as quietly as she had entered.

Josh had rehearsed the question a hundred times over, but that didn't help him as he looked into Audrey's dark eyes. "I want...I need to know..." He paused to clear his throat, then leaned over his desk, his hands gripping the edges until his fingers turned white and cold. "My parents couldn't bring themselves to talk about it. So I never talked about it. And now I'm not sure what I remember and what I'm filling in for myself just because the gaps make me crazy."

He heard Audrey take a few steps toward him, then her hand was on his back, stroking in small circles. "Are you sure?"

The pounding of his heart almost drowned out the question, but he nodded, taking in a huge gulp of air as he turned around and sat on the desk. Audrey took a seat beside him. She twisted her wedding ring around her finger as she sighed.

"Your parents and my parents all went to a party for the partners at Debevoise. I was grounded, so I was sitting in my room, angry because I couldn't go hang out with Joanie for the evening, but she persuaded me to come over anyway..."

***

New Haven, Connecticut, 1966

 

The two girls do everything together. Born four days apart to women who love each other like sisters, it's no surprise that the daughters are so loving, so close. Joanie is the outgoing one, the lively, elfin child, while Audrey is shyer and more reserved, but with a sharp sense of humor. They learn to read together, go to preschool together, play with Joanie's baby brother together, discover music together.

Music is everywhere in their homes. Audrey sings to herself, and sometimes to Joanie's baby brother, but mostly she sits at the piano and practices for endless, backbreaking, finger-wrenching hours. Joanie sings constantly, the childish warble becoming a nightingale's song as her voice matures.

It's as if her voice knows that her body will not be of this earth for long.

Their teachers can't keep up with their desire to learn, handing over sheaves and sheaves of yellowing music. The girls go from nursery songs to Joan Baez and Joni Mitchell, then discover the wonders of the classics their parents already love. Audrey's parents are shocked at the "Ave Maria," not being as liberal in their Judaism as their friends, and they tell their daughter not to play "church music" in the house.

Audrey, uncharacteristically, disobeys - because Joanie sings it so beautifully and it's an honor to accompany her - and is kept home instead of being allowed to help babysit Josh while both sets of parents attend a party. Even more uncharacteristically, Audrey sneaks out of the empty house and rushes down two doors, greeted by an eager Joanie.

They make music, glorious strains of Schubert that are far beyond the usual fumbling key strokes and cracking voices of girls their age. Giddy with accomplishment, they reach for a cassette recorder and begin to put their efforts down for posterity, endless versions of the grandeur of the song.

Josh wanders over to them. He's a charming little scamp who knows how to use his dimples to get his own way. He's hungry, he tells them. The girls are hungry, too, so they raid the pantry and find the pan of Jiffy-Pop. Josh loves watching the tin foil rise and expand - it does that because of the hot air, he's quick to tell the girls, who giggle and hug him because he's so smart and cute, and they let him watch the stove while they go into the living room to keep recording.

They rewind, listening, and from the kitchen comes a cry of alarm. Expecting a fall or a bruise, they rush in, calling Josh's name, but he's standing on a chair, pointing in horror at orange flames jumping from the top of the popper.

Although they're startled, they're not scared, and they shoo Josh away so they can douse the flames with water. But it's too late: the kitchen towel is on fire, and the wallpaper starts to catch. Joanie grabs a broom and tries to turn off the gas, but the broomstick begins to burn, and when she drops it, the linoleum blackens and melts.

The room is black with smoke now, and the girls are screaming in terror. They call Josh over and over, and it's Audrey who finds him standing in the hall, shaking with fright, clutching Large Brown Dog in his chubby arms. She begs him to run, but he just stands there, his eyes enormous and round. Audrey gets the idea to make it a game, tagging him and taking off for the front door, then she shoves Josh outside and runs back toward her friend's voice.

Joanie is on the phone in the study, crying and screaming her address to the fire department, and she waves Audrey away. "Get home before your parents know you got out. They'll kill you!"

"You get out, too!" Audrey demands, hands on hips. The first distant sirens make her realize that her time is running out and she has to get back home. Even though she rushes out the patio door, she turns back to make sure her friend is escaping, and she glimpses red curls as Joanie starts running toward the front of the house.

Audrey can hear the tape playing: her piano, Joanie's voice. Hail, Mary, full of Grace, in Latin. Pray for us sinners. Now and in the hour of our death.

She flees, running past the burning house, past the fire engines, into her own bedroom after fumbling with the lock on the back porch. She jumps into the shower with her clothes on to wash away the smell of smoke, then puts on a nightgown, a robe, and socks to ward off the chill. Lying in bed, shaking, she's sad about the pretty house but relieved that her friends are safe.

Her mother comes into her darkened bedroom, face drawn and worried, telling her that the Lymans' house caught fire and her father's gone over to see if Joanie and Josh are all right. Audrey feels sorry for her parents and their worry, because of course she knows the children are just fine.

Then her dad comes home. He whispers to her mother, who crumples against him and says something about poor Marjorie and Noah before she rushes off. It's her dad, who she's never seen cry, who weeps as he pulls his daughter into his arms. Josh is scared but he's okay, her father tells her, and we're bringing him and his parents here to spend the night.

What about Joanie, Audrey asks, pouting because she thinks she's still being punished and that's why they won't let her come over.

And then her father says it, and it can't be true, she knows it's a mistake, because Joanie was on her way out of the house. The words must be wrong - that Joanie didn't suffer, that it was the smoke and it was fast and painless, that the fire's angry fingers hadn't touched her, that she had been found curled up on the floor in the front hall, looking as if she had fallen asleep.

 

***

Toby's managerial style lent itself to barging in rather than knocking, especially where  
Sam's office was concerned. He generally found that striding purposefully while ranting at the top of his lungs was the most efficient way of getting Sam's attention. The circumstances, however, had changed in the last day. Grimacing, Toby raised his hand to rap on the polished wood. He felt an uncomfortable combination of sensations - buzzing in his ears, heart thumping too hard in his chest, sweat dampening his palms.

"You can go on in," Ginger said, looking up from her computer screen. Her expression tended to be sad no matter the occasion, but today there was an extra measure of anxiety marring her smooth skin. "He's at a meeting with some people from the G.A.O. He won't be back for a while."

"I'll just leave this for him, then," Toby said, almost sighing in relief as he indicated the legal pad he held close to his chest. He took a breath to clear away the dissipating panic and opened the door, scowling a little at the impossible cleanliness of Sam's work area.

On top of the desk, perfectly centered atop the leather-trimmed blotter, was a legal pad just like his own. Toby told himself not to read the top sheet. That noble thought lasted for a few seconds before he just shook his head and glanced down to peruse the familiar handwriting. The heading, in underlined capital letters, stated that these were notes from a meeting with Don Mahoney and Audrey Shecter at 4 p.m.

_"The same parents who complain about the lack of content in our curricula are the ones who call the principal and argue that the coursework is too hard and the teacher too demanding." - A.S._

_"Standardized tests are used as a means to ensure that everyone gets the same education - a substandard one. The notion that test scores equal quality education is subscribed to by three groups: administrators looking to move up the career ladder, politicians wanting to seem pro-education without actually dealing with any of the issues at hand, and real estate agents looking to increase the value of the homes they sell." - D.M._

_"The business model for public schools is a ridiculous one. Children aren't interchangeable parts on assembly line - they're individuals with vast differences. You can't make a steak out of eggs, but you can make the best damn omelet you can muster. And anyone who can do that should be rewarded for innovation, not penalized for failing to produce a steak." - D.M._

_"We need to secure the best possible education for all students - not just the ones protected by federal statute, but the ones who have the potential to be the best and the brightest, who can come from obscure schools as well as the best-known academies, who can set the world on fire if we can just provide the spark." - A.S._

Below that paragraph, Sam had printed and embellished a single word: Toby.

Toby leaned over to look more closely at his name, the muscles in his cheeks twitching as he attempted to restrain a smile. He extended one finger and lightly traced the illuminated letters, then dropped his legal pad haphazardly next to Sam's. Deep in thought, he started to walk out of Sam's office, but before he reached the doorway he turned, walked back to the desk, and spent an extraordinary amount of time making certain the two note pads were precisely aligned with one another.

***

The thing that annoyed CJ most about the Oval Office was that the chairs weren't designed for tall women wearing dresses.

Her legs were turned to one side, left foot tucked under the right, and it made her feel off-balance. But to sit with her legs in front of her would have left her showing more knee than she wanted to, so she took the compromise with a sigh at the thought of the backache to come.

The President sat opposite her, with Leo at his side on the striped sofa. The three of them exchanged awkward glances in a room silent except for the ticking of the large grandfather clock. After almost a minute, Bartlet spoke. "You asked for five minutes, CJ - are you planning to save your question up until the last thirty seconds?"

"No, sir." She straightened as much as possible in the chair. "I wanted to talk to you about Charlie."

"Charlie?" Bartlet looked over at Leo, who returned his puzzled shrug. "Did something happen with him?"

"Not yet, but it's coming, Mr. President, and it's not good. He came to me with a request for a reference - Deena wants to get a job."

"Well, that's not too unusual, for a girl her age to want money for clothes and other extras. Elizabeth--"

"Excuse me, sir. I hate to interrupt, but..." She trailed off, taking a moment to clear  
her throat. "Deena's getting a job to help pay Charlie's legal expenses."

Leo removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I thought Sam was gonna take care of Charlie."

"Well, he wanted to, but he's hip-deep in subpoenas. Under the circumstances he's not in any position to do much but offer advice here and there. So Charlie needs a lawyer."

"We all need lawyers, CJ. You do, too." The President's voice was mild and his eyes were full of concern.

"Yes, but I knew getting into politics could end up in a situation where I'd be needing attorneys. Charlie took this job out of a desire to serve his country, sir, and with all due respect, you took him on knowing that it was possible that something like this could happen to him."

"Charlie and I have talked this through. I've apologized the best I could."

"Forgive me, Mr. President, but is an apology really enough when a young man forfeits his education and his sister's?"

Bartlet leaned forward, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"He's not starting Georgetown in the spring. He's not going to be able to go to college, and if he gets into as much debt as I think he's going to, it looks like Deena won't be going, either."

"It's that bad?" Leo asked.

"Yes, it's that bad. He didn't want to tell me - I think it's because he's ashamed."

"He has nothing to be ashamed about," Bartlet announced in a clear, steady voice. "He's done nothing wrong."

CJ shook her head. "The problem is that this job, especially his relationship with you as a result of it, will turn him into one of the people you feel sorriest for - those who can't educate themselves." She took a deep breath, trying not to drown in the sorrow she saw in their eyes. "And it's not just Charlie who won't recover from this. It's the same for all the assistants - Carol, Bonnie, Ginger. Donna. Margaret."

Leo flinched, casting a glance over his shoulder toward his office door.

"Margaret's working at night, typing papers for grad students, Leo."

His face went pale, and he looked at CJ with stricken eyes. "I told her I'd find a way to take care of the lawyer, I told her I'd do it."

"I'm sure you did. And I'm sure she appreciated it. But she knows you can't do that, that if the press got wind of it they'd beat us all over the head with the story. You can't fix this thing with Charlie by writing a check, Mr. President."

"I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"I know." And she did. She knew how much the President valued his aide, how deeply he respected and loved the young man who was his silent, vigilant shadow. "But we've trained these people, and they know as much as we do about how these things work."

CJ watched as the two men looked at one another, the lines around their eyes deepening as they considered the consequences of what had, originally, been a private tragedy.

"I need some time to think about this, CJ," the President said after long, silent moments with his head bowed. "We'll talk again before the press conference."

"Thank you, sir," she said as she extricated herself from the chair and walked toward the door.

"CJ."

Bartlet's voice called her back and she turned, almost afraid of the terrible guilt she would see in his expression. "Yes, Mr. President?"

"I know this wasn't an easy conversation for you to have. I just wanted you to know that I know."

"Then we're all pretty knowledgeable here, Mr. President," she murmured, and she was glad to see him smile at her.

"I'll fix this, CJ. I promise."

"Yes, sir," she repeated, as she strode out into the anteroom, pausing at Charlie's desk just as the President called out to him.

"You didn't," Charlie said, his eyes narrowing.

CJ shrugged.

"CJ, you didn't."

"I did."

"CJ..."

"Charlie, you know what?" She patted his shoulder, grinning at him. "You don't like it - sue me."

He gave her an annoyed look that melted away as he walked toward the Oval Office. CJ watched as the President put his arm around Charlie's shoulder, and she felt the sudden lifting of a burden.

***

"I just keep thinking the same thing over and over, that she must've been so afraid, and if I'd waited just two more minutes, then I could've saved her."

"It's not your fault," Josh said automatically, past the small part of his brain that wished that Audrey had waited those last two minutes. He found himself wishing she had either saved his sister or been found by her side, and to atone for that horrifying flash of selfishness he turned toward her and enfolded her in his arms. "You were twelve years old, and scared, and you thought it had turned out okay. No one blamed you."

"No one blamed me because no one knew, Josh. They asked you, but you were so terrified and confused. You said you didn't know how it happened except that Joanie was making you some popcorn - and that was where the firemen said the blaze had started, so no one asked any more questions. And I...I never told anyone." She pulled out of his embrace and he tried to keep the shock out of his expression. "My parents chalked my depression up to losing my best friend, and I was too frightened to tell them the truth. I never told anyone. Not even...not even Michael."

It all rushed back to him with alarming, crystal clarity - standing in the wet grass, crying into the dog's plush fur, hearing the music through the shattered living room window, being grabbed and examined by the astonished firemen, hearing his mother's heartbroken screams while his father shielded his eyes from the sight of the gurney and blanket. "Ah, God, Audrey, all these years, you've had this...eating away at you?"

She nodded. Words streamed from her trembling lips. "I'm so ashamed, Josh. I loved her so much, and I didn't save her, and I loved Michael so much, and I couldn't save him, either, and sometimes I wonder if he died like that, right in front of me, as some sort of punishment."

Earlier in the day, Josh had asked Carol to pull wire photos of the Bell shooting. They were on his desk, and as he held Audrey close he could see the one that had been nominated for a Pulitzer - the one the newspaper called "Pieta," where Audrey cradled Michael's lifeless body, gazing at his face as if trying to read the mysteries of the world on the pale flesh.

He knew where he'd seen a similar photo, a frame that had made CJ apoplectic enough to suspend the photographer's privileges for a month. The picture was of the scene at  
Rosslyn, with CJ and Sam pressing their bare hands on Josh's open wound. Toby was holding Josh's head in his lap, staring down at him in anguish, and his mouth was frozen in a cry for assistance.

Josh shook his head, trying to clear the images, trying to organize his thoughts. "They were kids, Audrey, and they were sad and confused and crazy. It was random, just like what happened to me. It's not judgment." He took her hand and put it over his heart, letting her continue to weep into his shoulder. "If it'd been judgment on us, then we wouldn't be here with our hearts beating, with our minds still active, with a desire to do what's right. We survived. We...we don't know why Joanie had to die, or Michael. We'll never know. But it's not because of you. Or me."

He had to chew on his lower lip to keep tears at bay. As Audrey cried herself out, Josh let the memories come, one by one, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, the recollection of Joanie's voice didn't fill him with sorrow.

***

"We, as parents - and I've been guilty of this on more than one occasion - find our lives to be so full, so complicated, that we want to spend what little time we're able to give our children in a convivial atmosphere. We understandably want that precious time to be spent in laughter and pleasure. The problem is that sometimes we want so badly to be their friends that we ignore or even subvert the wisdom of their teachers and other leaders.

"It is with love for our children and pride in our nation that I stand here this evening and say that it is time for us, the guardians of those who will one day shape our destiny, to partake in their lives not as facilitators or enablers, not as the shallowest of fair-weather friends, but as those who will train up those children in the way they should go."

Toby paused outside the door to the Oval Office, peering in so that the President and Sam could not see him, and listened as the President read from the draft for that night's address.

"I call upon the parents of the United States to be our children's most devoted teachers, to be their strongest leaders, to be mothers and fathers in the truest sense of those time-honored words, for those are the greatest friends our children can ever have."

The President pointed to something further down the page and Sam grimaced. "That's not quite right. I'll work on it before I have Ginger type the final draft."

"Thanks. Hey, Sam, will the teachers you interviewed be at the press conference? I'd like to acknowledge them."

"They will, except for Audrey Shecter. She's leaving for Connecticut this evening. The unveiling's tomorrow."

"Unveiling?"

"Her husband's tombstone. In Jewish tradition..."

"Yes, yes, I remember now." Toby watched the President go through several pages, nodding his approval and making notes in the margin with a pencil. "Josh should go with her," Bartlet said without looking up.

"I believe he's planning to, sir."

"Good." There was more rustling of papers, along with an occasional interjection as  
Bartlet went over the speech. Finally he took off his glasses and smiled at Sam. "This is really good. I mean it. This is excellent."

"Thanks, Mr. President, but it was mostly Toby."

"But these paragraphs here," Bartlet said, indicating several sheets of paper in Sam's spiky longhand, "you added these yourself."

"I spent some time this afternoon going over Toby's notes. The quotes are mostly Audrey's and Don's."

"And they're powerful. But you put them together, you brought them to life. It's remarkable work, Sam. You should be proud."

"I've been blessed, sir." Sam's voice caught, and Toby moved to the edge of the room in time to look into Sam's eyes. They were a dark, solemn blue without the glittering filter of his glasses.

Bartlet followed Sam's line of sight, and Sam spoke with quiet wistfulness. "I had a great teacher."

For a moment, Toby heard nothing but the rapid beating of his own heart, nothing but his breath, as Sam's words bathed him in respect and affection.

"That's what 'rabbi' means, you know," Bartlet said, glancing between Sam and Toby with affected nonchalance. "I'd say you trained Sam in the way he should go, Rabbi Ziegler."

"I think we...trained one another," Toby replied, his voice dark and tentative. His remorse was lessened when Sam gave him a sudden, boyish smile, and moments later the two of them had their heads together over the legal pad, arguing and making notes while the  
President watched with one hand on each man's shoulder.

***

The next day was dreary, a leaden gray mist hovering over the cemetery and chilling the  
New Haven air enough to make Josh wish he'd listened to Donna's advice and zipped the lining into his raincoat. He stood between Audrey and her widowed mother, who had greeted him by clasping his hands in hers and kissing him on the cheek as if he were still the little boy who'd chanted the Four Questions in singsong Hebrew every Pesach. "It was nice of you to come, Joshua," Louise Kaplan whispered. "Audrey was so nervous about seeing you again. I told her she had nothing to worry about, that you'd be the same as always, such a sweet boy."

Josh smiled ruefully and put one arm around Louise's shoulders and the other around  
Audrey's, pulling both women tight against his body as the last of the students and friends took their leave. Audrey seemed to be avoiding the newly unveiled marker on her husband's grave as she looked askance at the two black-suited men standing behind Josh.  
"Are they with the Secret Service?" she asked.

"Not officially - they're technically off-duty - but yeah. I'm sorry about that. The President doesn't let me cross the street by myself anymore, not since...well, you know."  
He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth, a calming breath.

"That's really thoughtful of him."

"I suppose. But sometimes I don't know whether to be deeply touched or deeply annoyed." He hugged Louise once more as her friends returned to lead her away from the gravesite, and Josh and Audrey stood alone, looking at Michael Shecter's name in Hebrew and English on the shockingly white marble headstone.

"Joanie's buried in this cemetery. Right over there," Josh said, absently fishing in his pocket for two smooth river stones and gesturing with them in the direction of another section of the cemetery. "And my father."

"I know." Audrey pulled out of Josh's embrace and opened her purse, pulling out two similar stones. "I thought...since I was here..."

Josh nodded, breathing carefully around the thickness in his throat. He and Audrey walked together through the damp grass to where a large rectangle bore the Lyman family name. Slowly, silently, they each left a reminder at Noah's grave, then at Joanie's.

"We should probably get to the house," Audrey whispered at last. "There's enough food to feed all the huddled masses you could imagine."

"I wish I could stay, but I've gotta get back to D.C.," Josh said. "There's a thing tonight. White tie. And I have no idea where my monkey suit is." He reached out in silence for Audrey's hand just as he had as a little boy, only this time he was the stronger one. He led her away from the dead, into the land of the living. Waving the agents away for a moment, he lingered at her car door as she started the engine.

"I appreciate you coming all the way up here, Josh," Audrey said, smiling as best she could. "It was..."

Her voice trailed off as the radio came alive with the sound of President Bartlet's voice.

"But here they are, America's teachers, expected to be in loco parentis, and they're unable to show anything more than benign neglect - the same benign neglect that's created a generation of disenfranchised, aimless young people."

Audrey's face glowed and she looked at Josh with a rapturous, disbelieving expression.  
"Josh, I said that at the first meeting."

"Yeah. Sam got the notes from Toby." He reached into the car and cupped her cheek. "Keep listening. It just gets better and better."

Audrey patted his hand. "Thank you, Josh. For everything." Before he could frame a reply, she rolled up the window and put the car in gear.

Josh rocked back on his heels for a moment, then turned, stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, and walked in front of Audrey's car to where the two unofficial agents waited by the limo. "I'm ready to go, guys," he said, his breath coming out in a soft cloud. One agent opened the door for him, and Josh hurried to switch on the radio so that he could hear more of the speech.

His radio was on a different station than Audrey's, so instead of Bartlet's voice he heard CJ's, strong and clear. "Several DNC staffers with law degrees have taken leaves of absence from their committee jobs and are taking some of the White House assistants - whose salaries, you might recall, are less than regal - as clients for the duration of the investigation. They are doing this work pro bono. And as I'm sure you heard in the President's briefing on education, the theme of which was 'Train Up a Child'..."

This time he heard Audrey's impassioned words coming from CJ, interspersed with sound-bytes from the President's speech. Josh looked up in time to see Audrey driving past him, her taillights glowing like a beacon in the solemn, silvery mist.

***

END

***


End file.
